


Pull

by scrltvizh



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cross-Posted on Wattpad, F/M, FBI, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Paranormal, TRUST NO ONE, i dont know where this is going, sad feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-18 12:50:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18699949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrltvizh/pseuds/scrltvizh
Summary: (PLEASE DON'T TELL ME ANY SPOILERS I JUST STARTED SEASON NINE) I don't know what this is yet but I'm thinking about some ideas for plot, so if you like Sculder and The X-Files as much as I do, it'd be amazing if you read it :)





	1. gone

As he came upon the site, snow crunching under his feet, Mulder had his doubts. He couldn't see the lake through the trees, but they were close, the Sheriff had said. He turned to his right to look at the man, eyes focused downward in concentration as they moved forward.

Scully talked fast on the phone about it, about locating the shed out on the lake that belonged to Jakkobs. "The murder weapons could be in there, Mulder," she'd said, adamant about going on by herself. "I'll be okay." And he was sure she would be, but he had a bad feeling, doubts about this situation. 

"It's just past there, Mr. Mulder," Sheriff Mitchell pointed. The spaces between trees were wider now, and a bit of white poked out from around the upcoming corner.

"I'm going to jog ahead, if that's okay," Mulder spoke as he broke into a run, the trees around him turning into a blur of green and white and brown.

"Scully!" he called ahead, running faster after no response. 

The lake was directly in view, now, the frozen waters empty but peaceful. He stopped to look, stepping down the small hill that led to the lakefront. 

"Mulder," her voice called from his right, a light in this darkening fear, music in the silence. He let go of a breath he wasn't aware he'd been holding as he rushed to her side. 

She laughed when she saw the look on his face, pure concern, pure fear. "Are you alright, Mulder?"

"Just a little shaken up, I guess. Maybe I'm being paranoid." He placed his hands on his hips, gazing out at the ice. "What are you doing, Scully?"

She had tied a rope around her waist, fastening it tightly. "I'm getting ready to go out there," she said casually. "How's it looking over there, Terry?" she shouted into the trees, tugging on the rope. 

"You're good!" the man yelled as he stepped out from the woods, "I tied it around that big oak over there, tight as I could."

She nodded to him, "Thanks," turning around to face the lake, her deep breath forming in a cloud as she exhaled. 

"You're not serious, are you?" Mulder asked. "Scully, you-you can't--"

"Actually, Mulder, I'm the only one who can. Sheriff said the ice is its thinnest this time of year, it would break under your weight. I'm the only one here with a chance of reaching the shed."

"Yeah, there's a _chance_. A chance means there's risk."

"That's why I have this," she countered, tugging on the rope. She looked him in the eyes, almost sternly. 

"I just don't think we should risk it. We can call it in, we can wait for a team."

She scoffed, "It would take a day, at least, for them to arrive and for  _what_? Just so they can walk across a frozen lake exactly in the way I'm about to, right now? What's this about?"

Mulder sighed. She was right. What logical reason was there to keep her from going out there? Why was he fighting her about this? Then Jakkob's face came to mind, the sneer that had made its way across his scary, sweaty features in that dark building. He'd taunted them in a sing-song voice: 

_"I'll get you before you get me_

_I'll kill you before you kill me_

_You can run, you can fight_

_but you'll be the first to die_

_I'll get you before you get me"_

Mulder heard his laughter played on repeat in his mind, the reason why he was fighting her about this. The man was crazy, that much he was sure of. But was he a liar? 

"Just be careful," he said, as he looked down at his shoes. 

She nodded, walking forward, snow crunching under her feet. He watched as she made her way, step after careful step. He had to stop himself from holding his arm out, as if he could catch her if she slipped. Her footing was steady so far, though, and she was halfway there. 

He'd never thought about it before, how graceful she really was. Her red hair flew in wisps around her face as she turned back around, the pink in her cheeks flushed against the paleness of her skin. He hadn't realized until then that her body had stiffened,  immovable. She looked him straight in the eye. She was at least thirty feet away, but,  _god_ , he could see the intricacies in her eyes, her pupils constricted with fear. 

She mouthed a word before he first heard the cracking. One word, and then a thunder storm. Two men on the ground gasped, stepping back, while one man gasped, stepping forward. She'd mouthed one word before the thunder took her, before the sky opened up and snatched her greedily from his grasp. 

"Mulder."

And she was _gone_.


	2. tell me, were you even there?

It was easy to ignore them. Once she was under, he couldn't really hear anything, save for the frigid wind rushing past his ears. Their muffled shouts, however, went in one and out the other, insignificant.

He didn't even know he was running until he'd slipped and fallen, the ice under his body shifting. He felt the numbing water against his skin, all the more reason to get up and continue on his way, gripping the rope for dear life.

_Her life._

It was tight, so tight, the current must've dragged her. His hands were red, where the rope had burned, but pain was insignificant now.

He let go of it reluctantly, it was too close to the ice to reach. He hated the feeling, though, of letting it go, because it was the only thing keeping her alive. That rope was the only way he'd ever see her again, ever talk to her again, ever feel her again. He looked down at it longingly, wanting more than anything to just  _touch_  it. How else would he know she was still there?

He didn't realize until he had fallen to his knees, fist raised in the air, that he'd been running in slow motion. How long had it been? How long had he left her there, floating?

The ice had frozen over again, but he didn't even think about it, really. He just knew it had to be broken, and he knew how to break it, so when his fist came down on the ice, and his blood swirled in a pool at the crack he'd made, it was like he'd woken up from a trance. Suddenly he was hyper-aware of everything, of the cold biting at his legs, his face, his hands. He was aware of the shouting men at the shore, of the rope burns on his palms, of the aching in his knees from falling so desperately for her.

He was aware of the pain in his knuckles, stinging and crying and pleading not to hurt again but how long had he left her floating? He raised his hands once more, forceful and quick and bound for the crack in the ice like a missile locked onto its target, incapable of veering away without destroying everything in its path.

More blood leaked from his hands, shifting the water from blue to red, freezing cold to burning hot. He grabbed the rope again and pulled as hard as he could, gasping for breath, sobbing for air.

The lake gave way underneath him then, which he knew was going to happen, but the numbing waters consumed him all the same, taking his breath away. Everything was dark and muffled, but he was holding on to something and there was a voice screaming inside him never to let it go.

He couldn't breathe, he was suffocating, choking on the cold itself. He opened his eyes, looking up, and saw a distorted sunlight. The urge to swim for it was unimaginable, because it was that same urge of self-preservation. Staying alive was just science, a need that every part of his being screamed at him to fulfill.

So then why was it that he couldn't move?

He looked down at his hands, what was filling them, what was holding him back from saving himself. A shout escaped his lips but he couldn't hear it, he could only watch as the bubbles rose up in front of him, in front of her. There was a pain in his chest, something he couldn't describe now or ever in any point in time. A pain in his chest that could only ever be caused by her closed eyes, her limp body, her cold hand gripped in his own.

That feeling of paralysis was gone as quickly as it had come upon him, and he shot upwards, gripping her tightly by the waist.

They were above water in an instant. His cough echoed throughout the open space, bouncing off the trees and back, empty and alone. He looked at her, her wet hair plastered around her face, head slumped against his shoulder.

A thought crossed his mind that had no right to as he pushed her up and out of the ice water, her body turning limply to the side.

"Oh my God! He's alive!"

"Mulder!"

"Is she alright?"

"An ambulance is on it's way, Mulder."

"Mulder, is she breathing?"

"I don't think she's moved."

"Help will be here soon!"

"It's going to be alright."

"Is she breathing, Mulder?"

"Agent Mulder?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another cliffhanger--sorryyyyy :)))


	3. to run my fingers through your fucking hair

He had lifted himself out of the freezing water, body burning. He was pure energy, pure heat, his determination fueling the fire that possessed him. Adrenaline coursed through his entirety, the effect of the logical and scientific natural need to stay alive. It was his self-preservation taking over at it's most effective--when her life depended on it.

Crawling to her in desperation, a kind of desperation that numbed him more than ice, he turned her over on her back and laid an ear to her chest, grabbing at her wrist.

"Agent Mulder?"

He couldn't speak through the chattering of his teeth and the speed at which his mind was working, recalling the procedures he'd learned in CPR training.

"One, two, three, four," he breathed with each thrust of his palms. Her face looked pale, her hair dark, water dripping from their freezing clothes. His eyes averted to her neck, at the golden cross glinting slightly in the sunlight, and wondered briefly if he should--"five."

She gagged, coughing as water shot up from her throat. Mulder sighed, a short-lived second of relief. A voice came out of those blue-purple lips, raspy and tired. "Mulder," she whispered, reaching out to him. That whisper, that plea, that _prayer_ , woke him up again while he had just begun to rest his eyes.

Pulling her into his arms, he got up. He didn't know how, but he was suddenly standing on his feet, carrying her, stepping forward. He wasn't himself, of course. This wasn't him. He was back there, lying on the ice, unable to gather the strength to move.

How had he gathered the strength to move?

He ignored the cracking sounds from beneath them as he continued on, eyes focused ahead and body too numb for fear. She breathed heavily but stayed limp, her eyes fluttering open and closed too often.

Terry and Mitchell urged him forward, he saw their lips move and hands gesture but couldn't hear their voices. Only the sounds of his breathing and her heart beating penetrated the walls of his brain, and until the sirens started in the distance everything was muffled and distorted.

He was moving, once again, in slow motion. The snow slowed down as it fell before his eyes onto her face, the red flashing lights that peeked behind the trees not moving fast enough.

He blinked as his legs gave out from under him, only then realizing he'd made it to shore, the wet mud staining his knees.

As he sat there, unable to move, he witnessed a haze of motions play-out before him, like he was watching a movie, yet unable to process what was truly happening. People ran towards him, or perhaps they were monsters, or perhaps they were angels. Mulder opened his mouth but no words came out of his lame attempt to call out to these angels, these monsters, these men.

When they finally approached him—finally—because they had been running slower than it seemed humanly possible, they pulled her out of his arms. After everything—despite the fight he had put up for her, despite the feeling in his body that he had learned to become immune to for her, despite the fact that she was his and he didn't want these monsters to touch her...

When they pulled her away there was nothing to stop him from falling forward, to his death. As long as she was with those angels, he would be content, although his last emotion would be fear.

The frightening feeling of losing a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the chapters are so short, I'll try to make the next one longer but it's going to take a while to post. Thanks for reading this far!


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